One became used to the pounding of boulders on stone walls after a while. It was just another part of the siege, just another part of another day. Boulders flew overhead, whistling through the air to crash against the high walls of Outpost. The walls were slowly failing, chipped away and weakening. One boulder crashed into a tower, taking out the side. The tower wobbled for a moment, and, unable to find its balance, toppled to the ground. Even over the sounds of flying boulders, shouting men, and snapping catapults, General Zumsharon could hear the screams of dying men.
He shaded his eyes against the harsh southern sun and peered at Outpost. Yes, the siege was progressing nicely. Already the wall was looking very weak in some places. It wouldn't be long; another day at the most. He gestured to an aide. "Command the catapults to focus their fire on the first and fourth sections of the wall," he said. "Bring up a sixth to hit the gate."
"Yes, sir." The aide saluted and ran off.
General Zumsharon grinned. It wouldn't be long at all. He turned and strode into the command tent.
Inside, the senior officers were clustered around a table loaded with maps. They were talking excitedly and pointing at a large map that was spread out on top of the pile and weighted down by a dagger, a goblet, and someone's helmet.
"This is the quickest route to the AEshling temple," said Captain Lurion. The Captain was the commander of the scouts. He was small and slight, whipcord thin, but with an unsuspecting strength in his slim arms. He could sneak up on anyone, no matter how well they were guarded. His opinions on routes and speed were almost always correct; and the general staff would have always taken his advice, if they hadn't been so stupid.
"No, this street is," disagreed Banner-General Pilathin. Pilathin was a tall, portly man, grown fat from riding his horse to far. He had three or four chins now, and a large, bristly beard to try and hide them. He needed the help of three orderlies to mount his horse, and once mounted, he usually stayed there for the remainder of the day. He was a loud man; General Zumsharon hoped he would be picked off by some enterprising archer. So far that hadn't happened.
"Look here," explained Lurion, patiently retracing his route. "Caulfeld Street you have to pass through the Plaza Jio. When I scouted three months ago, that plaza was the busiest in the city. It's also the widest and most open. It's perfect for an ambush. If we march through there, we're only setting ourselves up to die."
"We have more soldiers," said Pilathin. "Besides, your path is too twisty. It'll take forever to march our soldiers through that route."
"It might be," agreed Lurion. "But the objective is to reach all three temples at once, is it not?" Zumsharon nodded his silent agreement from the door. "The Kajukene Temples are farthest from the gates. See, those routes are more direct. The AEshling route is designed to waste time. Anyway, the roads are too narrow for the enemy to mount an effective defense."
"How dare you speak to me in such a way!" Pilathin's face began to turn red. "I am senior to you! You had better--"
"Pilathin!" Zumsharon's shout cut Pilathin off abruptly. "Captain Lurion is the chief scout; he knows what he is doing. Let him do his job and you do yours; unless you'd rather sneak through enemy lines to murder their generals?"
"No, my general."
"Good." Zumsharon strode to the table, the officers parting to allow him through. He pointed at the AEshling temple on the map of Outpost. "This is the main objective," he said. "The AEshlings are the ones who offended the Church in the first place. They will bear the brunt of our attack. I want the first and second banners to convene on this temple. Captain Lurion, can you find a second route?"
"Yes, my general," answered the Captain. "I will have it for you in one hour."
Zumsharon nodded. He pointed at the Kajukene temples. "Go easy on these," he warned. "We do not want to offend the Kajukene too much. We are still too weak in the southlands to give them reason to attack Feryth. Am I understood?" There was a general assent around the table. "Banner-General Pilathin."
"Yes?"
"You will lead your banner on the northern Kajukene temple. Banner-General Orkio, you will march on the southern temple. I will lead a small contingent of men to the First's palace. That will be all, gentlemen."
* * *
Zumsharon smoking his pipe outside his tent when Lurion walked up. The scout captain appeared out of the darkness not ten feet from Zumsharon. As usual, Zumsharon never heard the Captain's footsteps.
"It is a pretty sight, is it not, my general?" asked Lurion.
Zumsharon grunted. "It is indeed." He watched as a flaming ball of pitch arched over the wall and landed in a shower of sparks on the other side. Almost immediately flames shot into the night sky. Outpost was burning and the infidels within as well.
"Pilathin will cause trouble, sir," continued Lurion. He never looked away from the city. "He is impatient and vain. He will want to be the first to strike and he is angered that you did not assign him to assault the AEshling temple."
"Then let him stew," answered Zumsharon. "When we break the walls, Outpost will be in turmoil. I do not expect them to resist much. If he rushes, so be it; as long as he does not destroy too much of the Kajukene temple I am fine. Our quarrel is with the AEshlings, not the Kajukene."
Lurion was silent for a minute. "If I may ask, my general, why attack the Kajukene temples at all? As you say, it was the AEshlings who insulted the Church and killed her priests. Why?"
"We dare not show favoritism to one of the heathen nations," said Zumsharon. His voice was quiet so that Lurion had to strain to hear it. It was a voice filled with conviction. "We are the Saltrai'i, the chosen of God. Already we have sinned enough; that is what brought about the Ruin; that is what brought about the intermingling with the heathen peoples." Lurion stiffened. "I know you are not pure-blood, Lurion. Neither is Pilathin, nor many of the other senior officers. I treat them no differently than I would a pure-blood officer of the same rank; the difference being that they cannot rise to be a general."
"So we will put ourselves at war with two nations?"
"No, Lurion. The Kajukene will be too scared to attack us. They are awed already by our organization, our professionalism, and our devotion to God. They do not understand the concept of loyalty, even to their own gods. It is the AEshlings we are concerned with. They are greater heathens than the Kajukene, and they dare to insult us and treat as an inferior race. But we are the Saltrai'i, the chose of God. They call us 'Westermen' to belittle us, but we wear as a golden mantle. Why? Because it is who we are. We are the chosen who lived in the West, and sailed out of the West to bring the light of God to these heathen lands. And one day we will return to the West and overthrow the Ruin and then will the world be a safe place and a happy one!"
Lurion looked at his general now. He saw the pipe, where Zumsharon had thrown it in his speech. He saw the fervor and the fanaticism glowing in his eyes as he watched the pitch rain down on Outpost. The general's entire body quivered with an alien intensity.
"I understand, my general," said Lurion.
"No," said Zumsharon, "you don't understand. I can hear it in your voice. But no matter, Lurion"--he patted the younger man's back--"you will understand it soon, when we burn the heathen temples and add to the glory of the Westermen."
* * *
The hot desert sun glinted off the armor of the Saltrai'i army. The banners were drawn up in the order of their attack. The men stood in precise rows, shields held at the same angle, feet planted a shoulder-width apart, hands held at the sides, faces up and looking forward. Zumsharon rode up and down the lines, inspecting the soldiers while the catapults continued to fling boulders at the city. The banners were drawn up well within bowshot, but Zumsharon was not worried. The enemy had long since given up.
Lurion rode beside him, looking troubled. "What is wrong, Captain?" asked Zumsharon, quietly so as not to be heard by the soldiers.
"I cannot accept the fact that we are doing this for the sake of the Church," said Lurion. "Yes, we must avenge our Holy Mother, but can we not do so in a more peaceful way?"
“There is no other, Lurion,” answered Zumsharon. “The AEshlings must be punished for what they have done. It is the Saltrai’i way. We are instructed to bring fire and sword to any who do not obey peacefully. Ours is not some mission dreamed up the king of some insignificant kingdom; our mission is a holy mandate from God.”
“What if it is not from God?”
“What? You come close to heresy, Captain. If the Archprelate says it is so, then it must be. He speaks for God.”
“The Archprelate is a man like us, my general. He is susceptible to aging, to sickness. Could he not also be susceptible to greed, hatred, and lying?”
“You go too far, Captain,” said Zumsharon coldly. “The Archprelate speaks for God. It is His will that we subdue the races and bring them to His worship. And the first strike is against this godless city. Look at them! They have no crest or sigil above the gate; they have no saints, no guard of Church soldiers. They have three heathen temples. You will not find those in any Saltrai’i city!”
“But you may find those in any AEshling city.”
“That is true, but the AEshlings are heathens. They can no more distinguish the true God from the evil spirits that would pose as gods. They are the blind dog who cannot tell his master from the next man. We are the chosen people; it is our duty to bring God to the godless.”
There was a muffled roar behind them as the gatehouse collapsed. It broke apart in a shattering of stone, throwing up a suffocating cloud of dust. The sappers ran forward and began removing the stones, making a clear path for the soldiers to march through. The catapults kept up their relentless fire, keeping the defenders holed up in their strongholds.
“March!” shouted Zumsharon. He drew his sword and waved it wildly overhead. “March to cleanse this heathen city! March for the glory of God!”
As one the Saltrai’i legions moved forward, each man perfectly in step with his neighbor. The sound of their marching was like a great many drums or thunder. Soon, the first ranks disappeared into the city.
Zumsharon sat his horse and watched proudly as his army passed by. Lurion waited nearby, an unhappy expression on his face. Around them clustered fifty mounted men, the finest soldiers in the army, as an honor guard for General Zumsharon. When the last of the soldiers had passed, Zumsharon kicked his horse into motion and followed them into the city.
They followed the first banner for a while, but then peeled away and continued up the main thoroughfare. There was no one in the streets, and, as Zumsharon had predicted, they met no resistance. They only saw frightened faces at windows and doors, petrified men and women, wondering how savage the invaders would be. Zumsharon smiled to himself. The men of the Sunset Lands were not savages, far from it. Only those who resisted would be killed, everyone else was safe.
Presently they were riding across a broad plaza. A large fountain sat in the middle, tinkling softly. The catapults had ceased their firing; the city was quiet. Beyond the fountain sat the palace of the First of Outpost, the de facto ruler of the god-forsaken city. Zumsharon looked at the pinnacled palace with delight. It would make a fine example to tear down and destroy for the people.
He and his men dismounted and walked inside. Lurion led them through opulent hallways, past vases of Udoshi make, past paintings by the artists of Dovo, past carvings by Verian woodworkers, and over carpets of Damroshi weave.
“This is the kind of extravagance that godlessness breeds, Lurion,” said Zumsharon. “Even the Archprelate does not live in so much wealth. The Great Cathedral is less splendid than this, and why? Because the Church is there to feed the starving souls of the people, not to show off her wealth.”
Lurion led them to the reception hall of the palace. It was a long room, the ceiling vaulted high overhead. The sunlight streamed in through stained glass panes. At the end, alone and unarmed, waited the First of Outpost.
Zumsharon motioned his guards to wait and strode alone into the reception hall. His boots thumped hollowly on the marble floor. The First waited at the far end, a slight smile on his face. “Welcome, General Zumsharon,” he said.
“I have your city,” answered Zumsharon, “and your life is in my hands. Surrender.”
“I don’t think so, Zumsharon,” said the First. “It is not meet.”
“Don’t preach at me. I could kill you now if I chose to. Surrender.” Zumsharon stopped a few feet from the First.
“You can destroy my life, Zumsharon. But you cannot destroy my spirit. Likewise, you can take Outpost apart, stone by stone, but the people will rebuild the city. Why? Because our freedom is in our blood. You have made a grievous error in coming here.”
“The Church makes no errors!” shouted Zumsharon.
“Ah, so they sent a fanatic to do their dirty work.”
Zumsharon drew his sword. “How dare you talk about our Holy Mother in that fashion!”
“Calm down, general,” said the First. He made a placating gesture. “Put down your sword. There is no need for it.”
“Outpost is a heathen city, home to outlaws and heretics. It must be destroyed.”
“Yes, we have our fair share of malcontents,” agreed the First, “but what city doesn’t? The mistake was not yours, Zumsharon, but the Church’s for sending you here. You are a fanatic; I can’t see it in your eyes. When the rest of the world finds out what you have done here, they will hate you for it, and they will nurse their antipathy for the Saltrai’i as they have done for centuries. You only make your Church’s job harder.”
“Silence!” roared Zumsharon. “You are my prisoner!”
The First sighed. “We have been over this, Zumsharon. Kill me; you cannot kill my spirit.”
“You are lucky God is benevolent,” said Zumsharon. “If you repent now, He might hear your prayers.”
“If your God is so benevolent,” answered the First, “why has He sent you to kill my people?”
“Heretic!”
“I am no heretic, only one who seeks the truth. That is the way of all men who come to Outpost. They are looking for reason, for justice. Here they are free of the rule of a king or a priest, or an egotistic lord. Here they are free to pursue their dreams. There are nine gods worshipped in Tamerin, Zumsharon, but which are real? All nine? One? None? We do not search only for freedom from laws, Zumsharon, but for freedom of morality. Here a man is free to make his own choices and then he must live with them himself. Can you do that, Zumsharon? I don’t think so.” The First paused. “But you don’t really care what I say, do you? You’ll kill me anyway. But don’t worry; there will always be men like me who look out for themselves first. Here we search for truth, and there will always be men who wish to do that. You cannot stop us, Zumsharon. In fact, I invite you to try.”
“Silence!” shouted Zumsharon. He swung his sword; the First made no move to avoid the deadly stroke. He toppled to the ground without a sound. The escort and Captain Lurion looked on without a word. Zumsharon turned around, his eyes blazing. “Destroy the city!” he ordered. “Kill everyone!”
* * *
Outpost was five days in dying. When the Church soldiers marched away, a pall of smoke hung over the dismantled city. The buildings were in ruins, the temples destroyed. The dead littered the streets; the smell of blood hung heavy in the air. But as soon as the Church soldiers were out of sight, a man crawled out of the rubble. He was followed by a woman and a young child. All over the city those who had hidden emerged into the sunlight and looked around. Their dismay lasted for only a moment, though. Many of them had been the original builders of Outpost; they remembered when it had looked much worse. They rolled up their sleeves, and went to work.
